Falling
by asarix-sarai
Summary: It's hard to tell what's real. As the sweat drips down his temples and the fear courses through his veins, Percy wonders if any of it, if anything, is real. (Nightmare fic. Implied Percabeth. One-shot.)


I wrote this at 3 am, months ago, on the spur of the moment, so I apologize if it's a bit scatterbrained. Enjoy!

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He is falling, falling, only blackness above and below him. He thinks maybe could be falling down the world deepest wishing well, or he could be tumbling into the abyss of some abandoned futuristic drill site. Whatever this... place, it is definitely cylindrical, he decides, as the cold walls - could you call them walls? - whiz past, seeming to close further in on him with every passing second. Or is it every passing hour? Just how long has he been falling? Does time exist? The question confuses and terrifies him. He squints into the black, but he doesn't see any trace of time flowing around him. The only things that seem to exists are darkness, rock, and a mounting sense of dread as he once again remembers that he's plummeting toward gods know what kind of fate. A low hum echos through the space, and wind howls in his ears, though it isn't felt on his face.

His face is contorted and his mouth is wrenched open in a silent scream, and he begins twisting through the freezing and boiling air, desperately trying to fight the terror clenching his heart and _think_ for a moment so he can discern up from down. He only finds himself more disoriented, spinning and flipping through the - where _is_ the air? - as his fall continues.

Just as he begins to accept his pancake-shaped fate, the cylindrical walls surrounding him begin to morph, distracting his previous morbid thought with another. He watches in horror as his childhood's caricature of Smelly Gabe reaches out and tosses an earthen beer can toward him, nearly colliding with his temple. Luke's scarred face appears, snarling menacingly before unhinging his jaw to release a silent roar. The many heads of Scylla emerge, snapping at him with jaws of dirt and rock. Old titans, viscous monsters, disloyal halfbloods, all his enemies seem to join in, taking turns to morph out of the rock and make their attempt at either his nerves or his life. As he spins confused in the - okay, he decides, there is definitely no air here - mysterious tunnel, he meets yet another unwelcome face with each turn. With each new appearance, his blood pressure increases, his fear mounting higher than he thinks possible. Cold sweat beads heavily on his face, and he suddenly hears a sound not dissimilar to the rock tumblers he used while studying erosion in grade school. He whips his head toward the source, wondering what on earth it could be. It repeats, and he can barely make out a gentle, raspy voice.

"...see."

He cocks his head to the side when he cannot understand what it says, but before long, it repeats itself again, and his blood turns to ice in his veins.

"Percy..." the voice calls lazily from all around him, heavy, like a continent passing another on a fault line. He is too terrified to ask himself why such a comparison makes such sense.

"Perseus..." The voice continues to repeat itself, and he continues to twist in a desperate attempt to locate the source, wincing when he instead collides with enemies he had only hoped to see again when he passed through the gates of the Underworld at the timely, well-aged end of his life.

One final twist away from the sword strike of one of those creepy undead soldiers Nico summoned that one time, and he suddenly, as if by magnetism, finds himself face to earthen face with Gaea, who gently, darkly chuckles at him. He freezes, and the nonexistent wind rushing in his ears comes to a deafening silence. He cringes violently as he watches her mouth open, rocky lips moving with the "Percy" that echoes once again, and again, and again, dirt crumbling from the corners of her mouth and falling into the abyss.

He continues to watch, mouth still open in a silent scream, as she once again movies her mouth, but this time, her voice is much more familiar, and sounds almost terrified.

The second he hears it, he is jolted to a halt as though someone has grabbed him by the base of his spine, and he finds himself sitting bolt upright in bed, the whispered remnants of the name "Beth" fading from his lips.

He blinks once, twice into the dark room, squinting as he scans the (definitely not cylindrical) walls for the faces that haunted him moments ago. As he looks around, he slowly comes to the conclusion that he has woken from a dream, and with one last shiver up his spine, he allows himself to relax.

He unclenches his hands from the blankets, hissing as the stiff joints of his fingers protest painfully. Staring at his hands as he clenches and unclenches them, working out the remaining stiffness, he remembers once again the dream. It's been the same for months, though it seems that every time it occurs, the story extends by just a few seconds. That jolt in his spine at the end was new.

He looks at the clock on the night stand. It's 3:41 am. Resigning to yet another night of poor sleep, he hangs his head dramatically, pushing a hand through his hair. It's matted with sweat, dripping down his forehead and the back of his neck. His hand pauses at his neck, holding there in an attempt to stop the shaking that has traveled down his arms.

"P-Percy," he hears, and instantly freezes, his stomach leaping up in his throat. Was his dream just another vision? Was Gaea awake again, calling out to him?

"Percy," the voice whimpers again, and with a start, he remembers that this bed is not one he occupies alone. She is curled into a ball, blankets bunched at her feet, shivering and sweating. He softens at her appearance, so helpless when she normally looked so strong. Her feet kick gently, and her fists clench and unclench erradically.

He lays behind her and gently places a hand on her shoulder, knocking his forehead softly against the base of her neck. She stiffens, stuttering, "P-per...". He shushes her, lightly tracing his hand down her arm, coming to a rest at her hip, where he gives a faint squeeze. She relaxes at the touch, her hands and feet falling still. She shivers once more as his hand travels across her stomach, arm encircling her, and sighs as he places a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

" I'm here, my love," he whispers into her skin.

He drifts back to sleep, both of them dreamless until they are woken by the soft light of morning streaming through a dirty set of blinds.

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As per usual, leave a review, if you're into that! My posts are sporadic. Have patience with me, if it's more you want~


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